


Control

by hellskitchensmurdock



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Stan-Centric, Stanley Uris-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21882166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellskitchensmurdock/pseuds/hellskitchensmurdock
Summary: "In a world with no order, Stanley Uris grabbed what he could control and held on for life."
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, The Losers Club/The Losers Club (IT)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	Control

Stealing the whiskey from Richie’s house was a mistake. He kept telling himself that he should take it back or throw it out, but he couldn't because he already found comfort in having it.

His little secret stashed away under his bed.

He found comfort in the control he had over it. How he could move it whenever he wanted. How he could keep others from finding out. How he could, at any time, take a drink and savour the burn in the back of his throat before hiding it away again.

In a world with no order, Stanley Uris grabbed what he could control and held on for life.

It was three weeks after when Richie mentioned it. They had stayed by the quarry hours past sunset talking by a makeshift fire built with the sticks surrounding them.

“I don’t think my parents have noticed but I swear we had another bottle of whiskey. It’s been bugging me for weeks.” Richie had said. “I’m telling you Eds, my house is haunted.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes at the nickname. “Or someone broke in and stole it.” He replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

“But there are no signs anyone had!” Richie exclaimed.

“Would you even know the signs?” Stan suddenly asked.  _ Draw attention away from yourself by asking questions you know the answer to. _

_ (The answer to that, of course, was that there were no signs because the thief was welcomed in... a friend.) _

“Fuck off Urine!” Richie had a smile on his face as he yelled for Beverly, who was on one side of Stan, to slap him.

Bev gave him a playful shove before snaking her arm around his shoulder after receiving a nod of approval from Stan as Richie shouts his thanks. 

“But what if you’re right and your house _is_ haunted?” Bev asked, her tone sarcastic but playful.

Richie’s eyes brightened as if he _wanted_ his house to be haunted. He started rambling about the ghosts that could be haunting him and explaining all the proof he had for their existence, not just in his house but in general as well.

Everyone was content with listening. Stan leant against Bev, his head on her shoulder. Richie and Eddie had their legs tangled and Mike, Ben and Bill all had their shoulders touching as they all leaned against the same tree trunk.

The missing whiskey bottle was forgotten about, Stanley knew this. But a voice in the back of his mind nagged and nagged, telling him that they would find out it was him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if they found out.

If he lost the only control he had.




Numbers were something he always understood. They were set. They didn’t need to be controlled because they had control of themselves.

A day has a set amount of minutes, hours, school periods. A week had the same as does a month and a year. 

A maths problem had one answer. He had one secret.

Until he had two, then three.

Three was a nice number. It wasn’t even, but it could still be split into one and a half twice. It wasn’t perfect, but it was tolerable. It suited him. 

The whiskey still hid under his bed. He had moved it twice (once to his wardrobe and then to his drawer) before moving it back under his bed in the two months he had it.

It had remained unopened until it wasn’t his only secret. This secret he couldn’t physically stash away, he couldn’t forget about it until he needed it.

This secret was a part of him, and so much bigger than he ever imagined.

He liked guys. Only guys.

Stanley Uris was gay.

It was easy for him to admit it to himself, he personally saw nothing wrong with it. What scared him was everyone else and their opinions. Usually, he didn’t care what people thought of him but this was different.

This was life and death.

It was five days, five hours, five minutes, five seconds when it clicked that he _needed_ to bury this, even within himself, or else it would get him killed.

Stanley didn’t like the number five. Just like he didn’t like the taste of the whiskey he stole.

He did like the burn of it as it passed his throat.

He stashed away the whiskey again, and with it, his new secret. He was gay. And that would stay buried forever.




His skin set on fire with panic every time he heard anyone mention gay people or, more commonly, any slur used against them. It was the same fire that was set in his throat when he drank the whiskey, yet it was so vastly different too.

He hated the way he was worried about being outed, the way that worry would manifest and restrict his oxygen, leaving him gasping for air on the bathroom floor.

He just wanted to feel safe again.

Three more swigs had been taken since the first, all to distract him from the fear of his new secret. 

One secret helping the other, as if they were friends. They seemed to notice each other more than his friends noticed him.

“Eddie Spaghetti you come with me! We’ll get the drinks!” Richie swung his arm around Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie smiled and nodded, clearly resisting the urge to melt into his touch.

“M-Mike and I can- can get l-l-lollies?” Bill offered, looking towards Mike who gave a nod of approval.

“Alright, Ben and I will pick a _brilliant_ movie for us all to watch.” Bev and Ben shared a look and smiled as if they knew exactly what movie the losers would be watching this week.

“What time are we meeting at yours, Bill?” Eddie asked. 

As Bill replied Stan became convinced that they wanted him out of the group. That they knew he was gay and they hated him but were too nice to confront him.

It was as if a switch had flipped, and now it was stuck.

“Stan the Man!” Richie snapped him out of his train of thought. “You cool getting drinks with us tonight?”

Stan just nodded, not trusting himself to speak right now. 

_ He just remembered that they need to include you to make sure things don’t turn out bad. They are going to slowly push you away until you are alone before you realise it. _

_ Run, Stanley Uris. It’s better to have this done on your own terms. At least you have control over it that way. _

  
  





He sat with them less at lunch, favouring the library over his friends- former friends. They didn’t consider him a friend, why should he consider them his?

When he first realised that, he had to leave the classroom before he cried in front of them all. He hoped Richie would follow and reassure him he was wrong.

That didn’t happen. And fair enough too; he shouldn’t put his hands on something he sees as filthy.

That’s when he stopped sitting with them completely. Soon he stopped going out with them on weekends and sitting with them in class.

Stanley Uris was gay and so utterly alone that his only friend was a bottle of whiskey he stole.

_ If you stole one friend, maybe you can steal more. _

He got nervous the first time, only stealing a pack of gum which he chucked in the first bin he saw. The second time he was more successful, stealing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

As he stood alone against a tree, he missed the methodical procedure of smoking. Two months ago he had started and today he had forgotten to take them to school with him.

“What the fuck are you doing Stanley?” Eddie had yelled, shaking with anger. He only swore when he was angry.

“What?” Stan asked, feigning confusion as best as possible.

“You’ve left us! You stopped sitting with us, and you stopped hanging out with us, and you gave us no explanation and if you don’t want to be our friend anymore just tell us!” Eddie’s voice was high and his breathing heavy. Stan knew he was masking his pain with anger.

Stan knew he had hurt them. And he made it worse.

_ At least you have control this way. _

“I don’t. I thought this would be easier. I’m sorry.” Stan kept his voice as neutral as possible. 

This wasn’t him just running away; this was him shooting his chaser in both the knees and the stomach and calling it a head start.

He turned away as he saw the angry mask melt, leaving just the hurt so painfully on display.

He walked, and he kept walking until he was home. And then he kept walking after picking up his three new friends. He walked until it was night until he was at the quarry where he took another gulp of whiskey and chain-smoked three cigarettes as tears streamed down his face.

_ You worthless fucking dumbass now all your friends think you hate- wait, they aren’t my friends, they’ve hated me for months, years even. _

Stan rubbed his face in frustration after stubbing the last cigarette out. He knew he was going on a downward spiral, and he couldn’t stop it.

He was wrong. He didn’t have control.

But it didn’t matter, not this time, because Stan wanted this.




It had been 10 weeks, 12 days, 14 hours and 16 minutes since he first stole the whiskey from Richie’s house. It had been 6 weeks, 4 days and 3 hours since he realised he was gay and four too many fives later that he needed to keep it buried. It had been 5 weeks and 6 days since he had figured out his friends hate him and two days later he slowly began to push them away. At some point, he began stealing cigarettes and lighters. It had been 2 weeks since his fight with Eddie and he was actively skipping maths classes because he hated number now.

He didn’t care anymore.  _ Fuck numbers. Fuck my grades. Fuck my life, it doesn’t matter anymore. _

He was smoking half a pack a day and he was hyper-aware of his former friend's worried stares drilling into the back of his head every time he left class jittery or came late with bloodshot eyes.

His parents began to notice as he started to smell more like cigarettes then the aftershave his dad gave him on his last birthday. They were unsuccessful at finding his cigarettes but they had caught him playing with his lighter and he had to get a new one outside of routine.

The only reason he didn’t mind was that the itch for cigarettes was stronger than the repulsion of breaking routine.

His father had also given him a lecture, which was met with false caring and a sweet “Okay dad,” in a voice that satisfied him.

They tried three more times before giving up, having decided he would stop when he gets over this phase.

And maybe he would if he wasn’t convinced he’d be dead before he got a chance.




Stan sees it coming. He swears he does.




Bev had appeared as he leaned out the window, a lit cigarette between his fingers and smoke escaping from between his lips. 

“I left a locket here. I thought I’d come get it, is that okay?” Bev asked, an unfamiliar nervousness in her voice.

Stan nodded as he stubbed the cigarette and helped her through the window. “Yeah, I’ll help.”

Bev searched his desk as he looked through his wardrobe. The silence between them was unidentifiable; it wasn’t comfortable but it wasn’t tense either. It wasn’t in between but it also wasn’t neither at all.

It was as if everything had stopped apart from the two of them. 

The moment was cut and reality seeped through as his father called out from downstairs.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered to Bev. And when he did, she was standing in the middle of the room with a bottle in her hand.

A bottle of whiskey, mostly empty.

His bottle. From Richie’s house.

Bev slowly turned around. Tears in her eyes as she put together the pieces.

“Stan.”

The room was still.

“Please be honest.”

Bev was whispering.

“Is this the whiskey from Richie’s house?”

He nodded because anything else would give the same answer and he was too tired and of course Bev was smart enough to piece it together.

Stanley Uris was so fucking tired and Beverly Marsh had found out his first secret. One he’s had for too long. One he’s panicked over people finding, one that provided him with control over his life.

He thought his throat would close up, tears would be forced from his eyes. They weren’t.

He was numb.

He was paralysed.

He remained so, even when Bev hugged him.

“Please talk to us Stan,” her cries were as soft as her whisper. “Please stop pushing us away.” 

He stood frozen, his arms not moving from his sides, his eyes not moving from the dirt of Bev’s shoes on his desk. 

She sighed and let go. She put the bottle of whiskey in her backpack and climbed over his desk to the window again.

Her voice was steady as she told him “We forgive you.”

He was still numb.




History was less fun when he wasn’t surrounded by his friends. While his grades improved dramatically, (somehow, dates where an exception to his hatred of numbers), Stan found no purpose in it.

He didn’t find purpose in much anymore.

But what he did have was a sliver of hope. _“We forgive you.”_ Bev’s words gave him butterflies, it gave him a glimmer in his eyes. 

It gave him a reason to fight for another day.

He was late to class, as per usual. The teachers gave up on him; apart from Maths, he still got good grades so they didn’t bother with his bloodshot eyes and shitty attendance.

His eyebrows furrowed as he saw Bill sitting at the two-seater desk he usually had to himself.

Not wanting the cause a fuss during the teacher’s explanation of the Industrial Revolution, he sat down in his usual seat.

The class’ voice all rise as the teacher sets them questions and are left to complete them. Stan intently stares forward as he flicks to the correct page of his textbook.

“Bev told me what she found.”

Stan paused. “Okay.”

“Why did you do it?”

Stan bit his lip. He didn’t have an answer. He knew why he kept it because it gave him control, but he didn’t know why he did it. He never thought of it.

“Stan?”

“I- I don’t know.” 

He’s expecting Bill to push, to say that's not good enough, to go back to Eddie, who kept glancing back at them, or tell him that he was worthless and too far gone. 

Instead, Bill nods. “That’s okay.”

Stan shakes his head. “But it’s not.” He whispered so quietly he can barely hear himself above the chatter of the class.

“What?”

Stan doesn’t say another word, just pushes his textbook between the two of them because he knows Bill still doesn’t have one.

“Is the whiskey all?” Bill suddenly asks as Stan puts his pen down, having completed the set questions.

He shakes his head.

“Will you tell me what else there is?”

He shakes his head again, turning his head towards the wall so Bill can’t see the tears forming in his eyes.

“Then tell someone. You’re still a loser, and we are still here for you.”

Before Stan had a chance to reply, the bell rang and Bill walked straight out of the classroom. He looks back at him before leaving and Stan swears he saw tears in his eyes.




It was three in the morning when Stan tapped on Richie’s window, shaking from a mixture of cold and nerves. He decided to take Bill’s advice and tell Richie. 

Richie didn’t show any signs of resentment or confusion when turned to his window, in fact: his eyes lit up and he rushed to help Stan through. When he had both feet on the ground, Richie engulfed him in a hug, whispering “I missed you.”

“I missed you too... We need to talk.” Stan took a deep breath. He could feel his heartbeat and his hands shake.

“Okay... Okay... Let’s sit down.” Richie, who was holding Stan’s wrists, led him to the bed. Richie moved to hold Stan’s hands. 

“I stole the whiskey. I don’t know why it was just an urge and I gave into it. Bev took it, I don’t know what she did with it.”

“Damn Stan, you did that? You really are stepping up your badass game huh?”

Stan chuckled.

“So all of this was... what? because of the guilt of stealing whiskey?” Richie furrowed his eyebrows.

“I wish it was that simple...”

“Tell me?”

“I felt... So out of control of my life... I just wanted control and I took it too far. Different things were happening and it...” Stan made a downhill motion with his hand. “like dominos.”

Stan paused for a moment, taking a minute to breathe. “It all started with the whiskey” he whispered. “It gave me control. I could keep it a secret, I could drink it. I could do that. And I did and that was it... until it wasn’t. I realised something, something that-“ Stan broke off, a sob coming out against his will. Stan clamped a hand over his mouth and looked away from Richie as tears clouded his vision.

“It’s going to get me killed and I was convinced you guys found out and were just trying to push me away until I was alone so I did it first because at least then it’s on my own terms.” Stan continued with a shaky voice, on the verge of sobbing again. “I hated it, but I thought I had to and I hated myself for it and- and- and-“

“Shh... It’s okay. Stan.” Richie wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back, “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Stan took a deep breath. He stayed silent, leaning against Richie’s shoulder. He didn’t want to keep talking, he didn’t want to tell him about the smoking or liking guys; the thought of it set his skin on fire. All Stan wanted was to go to sleep sharing a bed with Richie like they did when they were kids. He wanted to go back.

_ But, you can’t. _

So instead, he took a deep breath and said: “I started smoking.”

“I know,” Richie whispered. Stan could tell he was going to say something else but thought better of it. 

“I did it because it made me feel less lonely... somehow. It felt right in the moment, but I don’t know how to explain it. I think maybe it just occupied me so I didn’t think about it... I also think that’s why I stole it instead of...” Stan broke off into a bitter chuckle. “I’m just chucking out hypothesis’ because I feel the need to explain something I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to. You don’t understand and that’s okay.” Richie didn’t mention the future, how Stan would need to discover it, one day. He supposes Richie already knows that he is aware of that fact. “But, can you tell me what that secret is? The one that you said will get you killed?”

The colour drained from Stan’s face. “N-no. I can’t. You’ll hate me, you’ll actually hate me.”

“Stan, you are one of my best friends, I could never hate you. No matter what.” Richie began rubbing circles on Stan’s back.

“I’m- I like guys. Just guys...” He whispered. 

Richie was silent for a long time, but Stan knew he was just searching for the right words to say: otherwise the rubbing on his back would’ve stopped.

“That’s cool,” he whispered. Stan noticed something in Richie’s voice, something he couldn’t place.

“So do I.” He continued.

_ Relief. _

And that's what Stan felt now. Everything was out in the open and his friend was understanding, accepting, embracing him as sighed, feeling a weight lifted off his chest.




The losers were already at the quarry: Richie had told them they’d be there straight after school (which he hadn’t attended all week, since after he spoke to Richie: he had stayed at Richie’s that night before returning home and not leaving) but Stan needed to build the courage up.

Eddie was alone on the side, leaning against a tree and studying while the others were in the water.

“Do we have a test coming up?” Stan asked, leaning against the tree next to him. His heart was beating quickly, he felt as though it was going to force its way up to his throat and out his mouth.

_ Stay calm. _

Eddie didn’t stop what he was doing as he replied “Yeah, in history... You’d known that if you showed up...”

“I know. I just needed some time off.”

Eddie finally looked up at him. “I’m glad you did, you’re looking a lot... better than you have in a while.”

“Yeah... I feel it.” Stan sighed before continuing. “Look... I’m sorry for yelling at you and saying what I said, it was unacceptable.”

“Thanks,” Eddie replied. “I appreciate it... Though I think I need to apologise to: I didn’t notice you were hurting, I was a shitty friend that day so... I’m sorry too.”

Stan wanted to fight back, tell him that he was wrong, that this was his fault and his fault alone but he didn’t want to fight him again. Instead he nodded and sat down next to Eddie. Stan sat in silence as Eddie began to go over the material they would need for the test.

“Will you tell us? Why?” Eddie asked as the others began to swim over.

“I can tell you some of it. I told Richie all of it and... I’m not ready to speak about it so... in depth again.” Stan bit his lip and looked away, focusing on the sound of the leaves ruffling as Eddie dragged his bag across the ground.

“Is that okay?” He continued.

“Yeah, of course.”

Stan took deep breaths as he heard the footsteps of the other losers. They formed a circle and were silent. He had never heard them be so silent for so long.

“Hi Stan,” Bev smiled at him.

“Hi,” Stan’s voice got caught in his throat. He cleared it and began to speak again. “Can I... explain?”

They all nodded. So with a deep breath, Stan began.

He told them the basics, the important parts. He left out the theories of reasons, leaving it as “I was in a dark place.”. He also left out liking guys: he wasn’t ready to come out, but everything else was on the table.

And he wasn’t sure if he expected them to accept and forgive him, but they did.




Stan sat with Bev alone in the field, the rest of the losers having gone home to study for their finals. The two of them hadn’t left it until the last possible moment, so they stayed.

Stan offered her a cigarette after putting one between his lips. She took it and pulled out her lighter, lighting her own before passing it to him.

They both had taken a few drags before Stan began to speak. “I’m glad we are all friends again. I don’t think that would’ve happened if you hadn’t done what you did so... thank you.”

Bev smiled. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, I wasn’t letting you get away.”

Stan furrowed his brows and tilted his head after a moment, after processing what she said. 

She let out a small chuckle. “The locket was an excuse, I just wanted to see you. It took longer than it should’ve but as soon as I realised what you were doing I came over. I didn’t know about the whiskey, but it gave an excuse to start a conversation I was too afraid to start myself.”

Stan nodded and smiled. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“You do, and I hope you see that one day.” Bev snaked her arm around Stan’s shoulders, just as she did around the campfire all those months ago. 

And maybe, just maybe, as they sat in the field together, smoking cigarettes and forgetting about their upcoming exam, he was beginning to.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading for my first IT fic and the first fic I've managed to finish in a while! I hope you enjoyed :)


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